Duet
by RidgelessRidgeback
Summary: The Kurtsies and lead singer Kurt Hummel are famous and respected. But all that changes when Blaine and the Pips become just as famous. Famous Band AU where Klaine never met in HS. Latest: Kurt has to work with Blaine on a duet in his private studio.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: Hey everyone, I recently moved and some real life stuff has made it harder for me to write as quickly as I used to. But I finally got an idea that I just couldn't let go. I really enjoyed writing this story. Being in an 'alternate universe' gave me the freedom to make so many little references to the world we know. I hope you enjoy them all! And this should come across, but just to be clear: this story takes place a few years in the future, in a world where Kurt never spied on the Warblers and he and Blaine never really met. At least until now. As always, please feel free to be my friend at ridgelessridgeback. tumblr .com :)_

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><p>The metal pin jabbed through the fabric. Kurt winced, even though it hadn't physically pricked them.<p>

"Can you be a little more careful?" he whispered. "This is vintage McQueen."

"I'm so sorry." The assistant trembled as she spoke, undoing the damage and smoothing the microphone to his chest with tape instead. "I'm a little nervous, to be honest. I'm a big fan of The Kurtsies."

Well. Suddenly he felt more forgiving. "Why thank you! Say, would you like an autograph?"

She turned pink. "Oh no. I just couldn't, Mr. Hummel!"

"Nonsense." Kurt plucked a silver sharpie out of his back jeans pocket. "Lauren!"

A headshot appeared from over his shoulder. "You're the best, Lauren," he called out as he signed it with a flourish.

"I know, Sweetcheeks," she replied, her voice fading as she sauntered back offstage.

"M-my name is Suzy Pepper," the assistant stammered. Kurt wrote her name in large, flowing letters. _To Suzy Pepper, much love!_ As an afterthought, he scribbled a small chili pepper as well. Autographs were all about the personal touches.

She took the picture from him, tenderly holding it only by the edges to avoid smudging. "Thank you so much, Mr. Hummel. thank you! I'll treasure it forever!" Just then, the sound system sprang to life, indicating that they were about to begin. Suzy fled the stage, holding the autograph high in front of her as she ran.

He leaned back in the unstable folding chair they had given him to sit in. He looked over at three of his favorite people, the other members of the band he had formed once they graduated from high school. And then he looked down at the reporters who were flooding into the auditorium. _Rolling Stone_. _Vibe_. _Billboard_. _Time_. All the magazines he grew up quoting, and now they were gathered here to quote him.

Kurt Hummel loved being famous.

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><p>It was still at least another thirty minutes before the press session got underway. Considering how long journalism had existed, it was almost impressive to Kurt that these things still never started on time. He was able to kick a dozing Finn back awake at least four more times before a mild-mannered man tapped at the podium and the crowd settled down. The moderator began to recite from a note card.<p>

"Greetings to all. Welcome to The Kurtsies Q & A, brought to you by Chevrolet and Fox Records. The Kurtsies are still new to the music scene, but in three short years they have already become a worldwide pop sensation. Many compare the vocals of Kurt Hummel to that of a young Freddie Mercury, and the group's poignant yet catchy songwriting has kept their singles on the top of the charts. Now that their third album, _Losers Like Us_, has hit multi-platinum, we have gathered them here to discuss their success and future with members of the media. Please welcome: Finn Hudson, drummer, Sam Evans, guitarist, Tina Cohen-Chang, keyboardist, and Kurt Hummel, lead vocalist and songwriter for The Kurtsies!"

They stood and accepted the soaring applause. Kurt was pleased with the intro. After all, he wrote it. There could have been a little more enthusiasm, but not everyone was born with a flair for the dramatic. Kurt counted to twenty, careful not to stand too long else they think him self-absorbed. Which he was, but he didn't want them to know that..

The interrogation always began easily enough: When was the tour starting (Fall), were there any upcoming collaborations (Mika and P!nk), what does Kurt do to protect his voice (warm milk before bed), is it true Sam's little sister and brother are forming a band (yes they practice after school), are Kurt and Finn's parents proud of their success (very much so).

But they always saved one awkward question per person to deliver right at the end, and this time was no different.

"Sam, Dakota Stanley here from _PlayGirl. _We'd like to feature you as a centerfold. What do you say?"

"Um, sure?" he replied, a bit taken back by the instantaneous cheer from the crowd. He whispered to Kurt, "I can keep my underwear on, right?" Kurt patted his leg. They'd have a conversation about this later.

"Tina! How do you feel about your fiance touring in Europe with Miley Cyrus? Do you trust him in such close quarters with her and her female dancers?"

She snorted. "Of course I do! He's going to be too tired to cheat." The crowd chuckled quietly as they recorded her answer in their notebooks and cell phones. "Besides, one of my best friends is touring with him so I know they'll look out for each other."

"Finn Hudson, now that The Kurtsies have proven themselves, will you once again be rekindling your romance with legendary songstress Rachel Berry?"

Now that was just harsh; everyone in the room knew that Rachel was currently dating Jesse St. James. Again. Kurt wondered how many more years she was going to bounce between the two of them. Finn's emotional walls were well practiced at this point, but he still wasn't the greatest actor.

"I haven't spoken to Rachel in awhile," he answered. "So I have no further comments on that issue." At least, not any that he'd make publicly, but the band was sure to get an earful back in the limo now that it had been brought up yet again.

"Kurt Hummel!" It was Jacob, an internet blogger who had become notoriously famous despite being obnoxious and having wild hair. Kurt sat up eagerly. Finally! He hoped the question would be about his fashion sense, or his latest donation to charity. Or maybe they would ask him what inspired their hit single "Pavarotti." Nobody had asked him about that one yet.

"What do you think about Blaine and the Pips?" Jacob asked.

A less professional man might have shown his disgust immediately, but not Kurt Hummel. He had been practicing his interview faces in the mirror since high school. And besides, he was good at getting most of his aggression out in private. Usually by throwing chairs around hotel rooms while buzzed on white wine.

"I'm okay with Blaine and the Pips." Okay with them prancing off of a very high cliff, in fact.

"Their debut album has been heavily compared with your most recent," the afro man was saying. As if Kurt didn't already know that. "How do you feel about another gay man coming onto the pop music scene just as The Kurtsies are taking off?"

"I don't see why the success of one band has anything to do with another," Kurt said airily. Don't throw a fit on camera, he thought. He just had to pretend he didn't care. Just until he could go home and scream what he really felt into his down-filled pillows.

Besides, to admit how much Blaine Anderson pissed him off would be admitting that he was worth Kurt's time. And he absolutely wasn't. That shallow copycat, with his cheesy lyrics and basic dance moves was not worth a single second of it.

"_Seventeen _Magazine has pitted you and Blaine Anderson against each other in their latest online poll for favorite singer. Currently he's leading by two percent! So do you feel threatened by him, Kurt?"

Threatened? Threatened by someone who was barely 5' 7"? Who danced like a ten year old suffering a sugar seizure? And he was actually leading the polls? That was just going too far. Kurt would have to deal with the consequences later, because there were some things in life worth fighting for.

"My honest opinion, if I may?" Out of the corner of his eye Finn was shaking his head, but there was no going back now. "Boy bands are _so_ last decade. I'm not one who will argue against attractive men dancing together provocatively on camera. But what they do isn't _true art._"

"So what would make Blaine Anderson a true artist in your eyes?" a woman asked.

"To start off with, he and his boys should learn to play a few instruments," Kurt said, disdainfully examining his own nails. "Singing without playing your own songs is for glee choirs. Every member of The Kurtsies can play an instrument and sing."

"Now that seems a little hypocritical, don't you think?" Dakota asked. "What instrument do you play, then?" The crowd looked up from their media, intensely anticipating an answer.

"I'm actually quite dangerous on the clarinet," Kurt replied. "But our music has feeling behind it; my voice and my words are all I need to play with the hearts of our audience."

They oohed in appreciation as they jotted down his response. Flashes burned Kurt's eyes as every photographer hurried to snap the smug look he had forgotten to repress. In that moment, he felt extremely proud of himself for stating how he really felt. But that feeling didn't last for long.

* * *

><p>"You shouldn't have done that," Tina lightly chided as they walked back to the limo.<p>

"They're lucky that's all I said about that talentless hack!" Kurt took a deep breath, relaxing his face in case the paparazzi was following. "Seriously. How could they compare them to us? Those Pips are positively sophomoric."

"They probably don't like our band much either," Finn said. "After all, the press isn't letting anyone forget that as kids we beat them in high school Glee Sectionals."

"And who would have thought they'd ever be famous? They didn't make any impression on me at the time." That wasn't entirely true. Actually, Kurt had thought the lead singer of the Warblers was kind of cute. He had spent a few weeks after the competition stalking him online, but besides his name he wasn't able to find much. And since New Directions had won, he had no legitimate excuse to pursue a friendship (or anything else). So it was that Kurt forgot all about Blaine Anderson until last year, when the punk and his little back up dancers had arrived on the scene with suspiciously similar tunes and much inferior stage performance.

"I'm gonna say 'I told you so' right now," Tina said. "You're going to regret sassing about Blaine and the Pips. Anything they do to get back at you is only going to make this whole thing worse."

Kurt whined and pressed his head into the back of Sam's hoodie. Sam would take his side, at least.

"I thought it was cool," Sam said. "Like _Iron Man_. You guys remember that movie? At the end, Tony Stark is supposed to be politically correct and not tell everyone that he's a superhero, but he just says fuck you to the press: 'I'm Iron Man.' Totally badass. Just like Kurt."

Kurt smiled. See? So reliable. "Well, it wasn't _that_ extreme," Kurt said. "But if they keep getting in my face, I'll gladly tell the press to fuck off. And Blaine Anderson too, while I'm at it!"

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><p><em>Next Chapter: Tina gets to say "I told you so." Kurt gets drunk. Blaine gets even. (And while I know I'm notoriously slow at updating some fics, it might comfort you to know this one is already 10k. Updates should be coming faster ;p )<em>


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: Not much to say about this one. If you find it exciting, I think you will like the rest of the story? ;) _

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><p>Kurt and Finn owned a fancy penthouse suite in New York City. Not the nicest area, because they preferred the people watching that was at its finest in the poorer areas. Kurt loved it, but it was a little small for constant redecorating sprees. He sometimes wished for a big house where the whole band could live together and jam at all hours of the day, but he could understand why Tina and Sam preferred to stay separately from them. Tina was rarely home, often flying out to see Mike's shows, and Sam was frankly disgusted with Finn's standards of cleanliness. (Kurt was too, but he'd gotten used to it after so many years.)<p>

On this night, three days after their press event, Finn was out playing poker with Puck so Kurt had the place to himself. And that meant he was totally vegging out: pajamas, magazines to catch up on, and a pint of chocolate mint ice cream. The only worry on his mind was what songs he should work on next; the tour would be in six months, and he liked to have new content for their hardcore audience. He honestly wasn't thinking about Blaine and the Pips at all.

And then his phone rang and his mood was ruined.

"Told you so," Tina said. "Check out _The Tonight Show_."

With well-warranted dread, Kurt turned on the television. And there they were. Blaine and his smiling, adorable Pips: David! Jeff! And Nick! Kurt was sickened that he knew all their names, but they did this stupid sing-songy rhythm when they introduced themselves that was impossible not to remember. As usual, they were singing their catchy, superficial harmonies. This number was called "Warehouse Girl". It was not the finest moment of American pop culture. As the song ended, Blaine fell to his knees and the other three spun in place before sliding into front splits. All with that same overly cheerful grin on their faces that chafed Kurt's refined sensibilities once more.

"It's just so gratuitous," he complained. "Textbook teeny-bopper tripe."

"Don't change the channel now," Tina warned. And Kurt felt his stomach turn cold as Blaine approached the microphone again. This time, with a guitar around his neck.

"Some of you might have heard a rumor recently," he said, smiling at the crowd, "that Blaine and the Pips don't know how to play instruments." Kurt heard the audience cheer and jeer simultaneously. What, did all of them know about his comment already?

Blaine continued talking, skillfully playing a few chords as he did. "It's mostly true. These guys just dance." Everyone laughed; even the Pips, who seemed to have no problems with being insulted. Were they on drugs or something? All three of his band mates would have beaten him up if he talked like that.

"But I'd like to play you a special version of one of my favorite tunes just to set the record straight."

And then he began to strum out the opening to "Teenage Dream." An older song, but a good one. Covering a song traditionally sung by a woman was something Kurt liked to do back in high school, so he could appreciate that. But it didn't help his continuing suspicion that Blaine was always copying him.

When he began to sing, Blaine looked directly into the camera with a sweet expression that took Kurt off guard. And if he was being fair, Kurt even felt his heartbeat skip a little. Reaching back to their a capella roots, the Pips harmonized the other instrumentals and it gave the performance a lovely youthful quality. By the end of the first verse, Kurt had to begrudgingly admit he was impressed.

"You win, Tina," Kurt said. "That bastard can play."

"I don't think he's done yet..."

He wasn't. They brought him an electric violin for the second verse, which he played elegantly at a much slower tempo. After that was a ukelele. A ukuelele! And that wasn't enough. Oh, no. For the finale, they slid out a grand piano, the motherfucking Pips doing backflips off of it as Blaine deftly pounded out streams of notes like it was nothing. When he finished, panting and sweating, the entire studio audience stood and cheered so loud that the audio of the TV crackled.

The host crossed over to him, smiling to the camera. "Blaine and the Pips, everybody! Aren't they just cavity-inducing? And that's _The Tonight Show with Sue Sylvester._" Sue held up a cupped hand. "'C' you tomorrow!"

Normally the sight of Sue was enough to depress him, but Blaine's performance had been much worse. He clicked the TV off. "What idiocy. So the guy had a few hidden talents. So what?" He huffed. "I can't believe people liked that. I mean, it was- well, it had some minor issues. I don't like the length of their pants. And his rhythm change in the violin part was jarring."

"You're terribly jealous right now, aren't you?" Tina asked.

"Completely and utterly." Kurt threw his ice cream down in disgust. "I look like such an idiot!"

"Look, I warned you. So what are you going to do now?"

"Nothing." What he needed now wasn't revenge, it was distraction. "Say Tina, want to head out tonight? I could use a couple drinks and the attention of some adoring fans."

"Can't. Mike's calling from England in a few. But I don't think you should go alone."

"I won't, I'll drag Lauren along. She'll appreciate the overtime I'm sure."

"That's good. But I don't know, I have a weird feeling about you being in public when you're in a bad mood." Tina sounded worried. She was so sweet. But Kurt knew it was over nothing. What could be worse than what he'd just witnessed, anyways?

"Nothing of interest is going to happen, girlfriend. I'll sign a few autographs, drink a few drinks, and feel better in the morning."

Tina really should have taken the opportunity to say "I told you so" once again.

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><p>It took two hours and four Tequila shots for Lauren to detain him in the VIP lounge.<p>

"You're staying here until you sober or ascend to a new level of emotional maturity. Text me if you are in immediate danger."

"But that brat is here," Kurt moaned. "And those girls actually _walked away from me_ when he showed up and it's not fair! I have a _four octave range_! Why don't people love me?"

She sat him down firmly. "Nobody loves the obviously desperate." Lauren took a close look at his eyeballs, pulling back the lids. "Looks like we have some incoming waterworks. Just sit here for awhile. Don't move. And don't talk about Blaine or his band if anybody comes in. I'll get you coffee and donuts on our way home."

Kurt sniffed quietly to himself as she exited through the curtained doorway. Coffee did sound like a good idea, but it wasn't going to change the fact that somewhere in this loud, seedy club, that curly-haired jerk was wandering around, basking in the glory of tonight's performance. And Kurt had enabled him to have this success. That was what hurt worst of all.

At least Lauren had left the Tequila bottle with him. Kurt took a sip straight from it, then rolled his head back against the couch, staring at the dark ceiling. The room was perfect for meaningless hookups: red velvet covered the walls and soft, fluffy couches stretched out under dimly lit chandeliers. Kurt closed his eyes. If he wished hard enough, maybe a sexy, starstruck groupie would tumble in and beg to suck his face off. Yeah, that would be nice. Kurt could really use the ego boost.

But when he opened his eyes moments later, his wish had gone all wrong. He appeared to be hallucinating Blaine Anderson standing there instead. Had to be, because Kurt refused to believe a bowtie that ugly could be real. And as much as he despised him, surely the real Blaine Anderson was above sipping from a decidedly unclassy bottle of Bud Light.

"Those beers taste like piss," Kurt told him. He blinked, but Blaine didn't disappear. What an asshole. Kurt sat up and cleared his throat, trying to gather his dignity.

"And I will always remember that as the first thing Kurt Hummel ever said to me." Blaine sat next to him. Too close. Their knees were almost touching and Kurt didn't like it. "So what does piss taste like, Kurt? Sounds like an interesting story."

"I've consumed worse," Kurt said slowly, trying to maintain the illusion of sobriety. "Your music, for example."

"_Ouch_..." He took his time with that one word, drawing it out as his big stupid face swayed closer to Kurt's. "Can we start over? Hello, I'm Blaine Anderson."

"Hello, I'm Kurt Hummel. Now please vacate my VIP room before I get snippy." He folded his arms and tried to look intimidating.

"Man, don't I at least get points for trying here?" Blaine took a swig from his beer, but his eyes didn't leave Kurt's face. "So. I take it you didn't like my love letter?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"_The Tonight Show_, did you see it? I did it for you." Blaine smiled a little. It was almost cute. "You're my idol."

Kurt tried to stifle a snort, but failed. "Come on."

"No, I mean it. I know firsthand how hard it is to be a proud, gay male in this business." Now Blaine's eyes were traveling down his body, but that didn't make sense to Kurt. His wardrobe tonight was last year's Tommy Hilfiger collection, nothing worth much attention.

"If you're trying to change my opinion of you, don't bother." Kurt stuck his nose in the air. "While I applaud your considerable instrumental skills, I can't respect you as an artist."

Blaine laughed a little too loudly. He must also be drunk, Kurt thought. That would explain a lot, like why his arm had snaked around Kurt's shoulders, and why their knees had moved on from close proximity to pressed firmly together.

As for Kurt, he knew he was drunk because he was just staring at the stubble along Blaine's chin. Fine. He could admit to himself that Blaine was an attractive guy. It didn't make him any less obnoxious. Some part of him was aware that Blaine's right hand was caressing his shoulder, weaving its way over to his neck. But he was too busy glaring at Blaine's face to do much about it.

"You're so difficult tonight," Blaine sighed. "This isn't going how I wanted it to go at all. Here, drink this. Maybe it will make you feel better." Blaine passed him his half open beer.

"Your backwash is in this." Kurt pushed it away. "I'm not drinking from it."

Blaine planted it on the table. "You think my spit is gross?"

"What kind of question is that? Everyone's spit is gross."

"Really?" Blaine ran a finger over Kurt's bottom lip, gently forcing his mouth open. "Surely not yours."

Kurt stared down at his dark eyelashes. His moist lips. Shit, Blaine Anderson was hot from this angle. That was unfortunate.

"You're a flirt," Kurt told him. And then they were kissing.

Kisses often happen when no one expects them to. Kurt knew Blaine was gay, and he thought Blaine was drunk, but he hadn't thought for a second that there was any danger of making out with him. After all, only a few hours ago Blaine was nothing more than a thorn in his side, digging away at fame and fortune that was rightfully his.

Now Blaine was a warm, sloppy mess in his hands, an eager creature that smelled like sweat and cinnamon. Their first kiss was perfect, square on the lips, pressed hard at first but slowly melting into something softer. Then Blaine's tongue worked its way into his mouth and Kurt sucked on it, tasting that horrible beer but it was worth making Blaine shudder against him. Made it better, even.

With a surprising amount of grace, Blaine lowered them onto the sofa cushions, pressing his body close to Kurt's so he could grind insistently against his inner thigh. Kurt's body tingled with sensation; Blaine's hands skillfully stroked his arms, his chest, his legs. The worst part was, none of this felt bad. At all.

"I love the way you smell." Blaine inhaled against Kurt's neck. "Oh my fucking god. Please come home with me."

"No." Kurt cupped his hands around Blaine's ass. It was more defined than he expected. Tonight was full of unexpected surprises apparently. He guided Blaine's thrusting against his crotch.

"Why not?" Blaine paused, trembled a little. Close already? Kurt dug his fingers in, forcing him forward again.

"Because I hate you," Kurt told him.

"But I _want_ you," Blaine was saying, rubbing his nose against Kurt's cheek in a particularly thrilling way. "Don't you want me, baby?"

Yes, yes he did. It was just the shame he would feel later for letting Blaine Anderson dry hump in public.

"I want to come all over your beautiful face," Blaine sighed.

Ugh. "Why are all your pickup lines about bodily fluids?" Kurt snapped at him. "Unless you want me to be totally icked out, I suggest you shut up and stick with the kissing."

Blaine obliged, wetly working his mouth over Kurt's. He was making little noises that made Kurt's lower body throb. That was it, the moment when Kurt snapped. He had officially left the realm of rational thought. He wanted, needed to get off right now.

"Okay," Kurt heard himself say. "Okay, yes. I want you." He dragged one of Blaine's hands to his own crotch. "See?"

Blaine bit his lip against an escaping whine and made more urgent thrusts against him.

"Good boy," he said. His own voice sounded so soft and affectionate.

"I'm going to come," Blaine said. "Will you come with me? Please?"

Kurt pressed his face into Blaine's hair. He was going to tell Blaine yes, and then they were going to come together. And tomorrow was going to be really awkward, but Kurt was pretty sure he'd be pleased about it anyways.

But then someone cleared their throat extremely loudly from a few feet away. A young man, with one hand planted on his hip and the other busily typing into a Blackberry, had entered the VIP room and was now silently judging them. Kurt pushed Blaine off of him and tried to casually smooth the wrinkles out of his shirt.

"Don't you know how to knock?" Kurt asked the stranger. Not that knocking was possible against a velvet curtain, but that was no excuse from his point of view.

He was ignored. "Blaine, not this again. And with Kurt Hummel, of all people! You've outdone yourself."

_Again_? So this was... common? Kurt suddenly felt very foolish.

"So what, are you the jealous boyfriend?" he asked, annoyed at the inflection of bitterness to his own voice.

The other man fixed him in an exasperated stare. "No. I'm Blaine's personal assistant, of course. And you aren't nearly as charming as your songs."

"Thad," Blaine slurred. "Kurt is sooooooooo hot. He tastes like a kitten."

Blaine looked completely different to Kurt now: obviously wasted and completely out of control. How could Kurt have been so stupid? He whipped out his phone, speed dialing. Back up was needed.

Lauren stormed into the room in seconds. "What seems to be the problem here?" She looked at each of them in turn. "Well. Can't say I saw this one coming."

Kurt gladly let himself be plucked from the sofa. Lauren checked his pockets to make sure he still had his wallet and his phone. But she was dismayed at the state of Kurt's neck. "Great, he's just covered in marks! This is going to interfere with the _Vanity Fair_ shoot on Tuesday." She dug around in her bag, producing a scarf which she wound tightly around him.

"Is she taking him away?" Blaine wailed. "Thad, don't let her- I need him! _My penis needs him_."

"Christ," Thad said under his breath. "Sorry about this. Lauren Zizes, right?"

"Yeah. Kurt's manager. I'm guessing you babysit that one?"

"Indeed. Sorry, he's-" Thad leaned in, no doubt trying to keep Kurt from hearing, but he was able to make out the words _crush_ and _emotional_.

"Ah. Thanks for the heads up." Satisfied, she pressed her bluetooth headset. "Strongo, bring the car to Exit B please. Keep the engine running."

"You leave first, we'll stumble out in fifteen minutes," Thad said.

"Should be a piece of cake." Lauren shot him a thumbs up as she shuffled Kurt away. "See you around."

Dimly, behind the noise of his own angry thoughts,he heard Blaine call out his name as they left.

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><p>When he woke the next morning, Kurt felt strangely satisfied, if a little unstable. He had kissed Blaine Anderson. But he hated Blaine Anderson. But, the kissing was pretty good. Yet, the hating was pretty important. It was like plucking petals off of a daisy. I hate him. I hate him not. I hate him. I want to fuck him until he sings falsetto.<p>

Then, while he was enjoying breakfast, the headline of _Star _caught his attention from across the table: BLAINE ANDERSON HOOKS UP WITH UNDERWEAR MODEL JEREMIAH? And there he was, blurry but clearly enjoying himself, fingers entangled in some douche's obnoxious manly tresses, pinned against a wall on a hotel balcony. Any good afterglow Kurt was feeling was immediately sucked out of him. Sure, the article was printed before the events of last night, but how often did this guy do this? Was he a serial manslut or something? Did Kurt narrowly miss being some kind of sick conquest?

At least that cleared things up. Kurt grabbed Lauren's lighter from the kitchen counter and set the offensive article on fire, relishing the way the burnt paper dissolved and took Blaine's image right from in front of his eyes.

Hated him.

"Good morning, sweetie." Lauren plucked the smoldering magazine from him and neatly doused it in a nearby vase of flowers. "Glad you're getting your feelings out in a healthy way, but I've got some bad news. We got a phone call from Blaine's manager."

"So?" Kurt became extremely interested in the remnants of his coffee.

"He wants to record a duet with you." Lauren's no bullshit face meant that she wasn't joking, like Kurt really, really hoped she was. "You're scheduled to appear at his private studio tomorrow at 10 am."

"You actually scheduled it? Without asking me?"

She crossed her arms, which was Laurenese for 'don't fuck with me'. "Your goodwill has taken a hit since you insulted him on national TV. And he outmaneuvered you completely on this. He's already announced it on_ Good Morning America_. I've been fielding calls all morning." She shrugged. "There's so much hype already that you at least have to try to work together or your social status is going to plummet."

Kurt took an angry bite of his donut. That scoundrel. What was he up to? Trying to legitimize his pathetic songwriting? Or bragging rights for not only mocking Kurt on television, but tapping him behind closed doors? Well. Fine then. Kurt would go there, and record a duet with Blaine. But that's all he was going to do. He had willpower, dammit.

"I'll do it," he told Lauren. "But just the song. No more shenanigans." He held up a finger and shook it at Lauren. "As my dad always says, I matter too much to just throw myself into sex with any random guy."

Lauren whistled. "I can think of a couple nights your dad doesn't know about. Ow!" She rubbed her arm where Kurt had slugged her. "Easy, sweetheart! Alright, let's forget about this mess for now. Puppy shopping for Mercedes at eleven! You in?"

Kurt didn't need to think twice about that one. "Fetch me my new high tops."

* * *

><p><em>Next: Forced to collaborate to recover his faltering PR, Kurt arrives at Blaine's abode ready to write an original song together as professional musicians. Blaine has a different agenda once he gets Kurt alone.<em>


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: Sorry this took so long, I spent a lot of time tweaking the details of the plot here. So you guys have been just amazing. Even though not many people have read this story compared to some of my others, the enthusiasm and feedback I've gotten for it has been really great. I especially appreciate it because I think this is shaping up to be my favorite._

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><p>Blaine Anderson did not live in New York City. He lived an hour and a half to the north, in a country mansion surrounded by empty acres of land. Some of these acres even had cows on them. It had been a very long time since Kurt had seen cows, at least in a form other than sliced and slapped inside hamburger buns. And now that he thought of it that way, he was grossed out enough to consider becoming vegetarian.<p>

The mansion looked fairly plain from the exterior, but once inside the gated yard and through the large wooden doors, it was clearly the dwelling of a rock star. The foyer was three stories high with a chandelier made of guitar picks. At the end of an elaborately tiled walkway, a receptionist desk stood between him and several archways leading to different wings of the house.

And sitting at the receptionist desk, dividing his attention between a checkbook and a MacBook, was Thad. "Welcome," he said without looking up from his computer screen. "You're not on time."

Kurt had purposely shown up four hours late. If he was going to be here against his will, he was going to be as difficult as possible.

"I'm so sorry, has Mr. Anderson been waiting long?" he asked, tilting his sunglasses downward so his concerned expression could be fully appreciated.

"Nope." Thad said. "He's still sleeping."

"What do you mean _he's still sleeping_?" Kurt hissed. Thad did not react. He was used to being yelled at by angry male divas.

"Blaine has had a hard night and needs his rest. You're welcome to enjoy the entertainment room while you wait." Thad gestured to the archway to his right. Beyond was a decked out gaming and sports parlor.

"Of course," Kurt said tightly. "Of course he would waste money on something like that."

"And what do you waste your money on?" Thad asked with more than a hint of disdain.

"I don't. I give a quarter of my checks to charity, send a quarter home to my dad, and save the rest." Most of the rest. After Fashion Week.

"Aren't you a saint, then." Thad set a large pair of headphones over his ears, clearly uninterested in continuing the conversation.

* * *

><p>With nothing else to do, Kurt aimlessly wandered into the entertainment room. It had the bachelor pad vibe he was expecting: a full bar, a pool table, every game console, an enormous HD TV with several smaller ones mounted around it. Apparently Blaine was into football; several jerseys hung signed and framed over the bookcases full of movies and games. Not Kurt's type of place at all. But the color scheme wasn't appalling, so at least the interior decorator had some taste.<p>

The back wall was entirely different. From floor to ceiling, magazine cutouts, photos and posters were pasted into an elaborate collage. It was a visual record of Blaine's career. On the left, in the beginning, were memories of his high school glee club. There were more members back then, and while the outfits were less flashy Kurt couldn't deny he liked the look of a nicely fitted school blazer. He was a little surprised to see Thad's face among the group. Kurt wondered when the transition from star to assistant had occurred. That must have been a bizarre conversation for everyone involved.

In the middle of the wall, Blaine and his friends had grown into men. The group became smaller and the photos became sexier. In the end, only three remained (David! Jeff! And Nick!) but they had been the dream team that enabled the boy band's sudden success. Blaine and the Pips didn't have as many prestigious covers as the Kurtsies, but they had been in _TigerBeat_ and _Teen Vogue_ so often they should have just put out a calendar.

On the far right, only one picture was framed. It was not a picture Kurt expected to see here; in fact, it wasn't a picture he knew existed. Three years ago, the Kurtsies had performed their debut album at Bonnaroo. This was a shot of Kurt mid-song, sweat flying out of his hair as he belted a note into his microphone. Blaine must have had the photo printed himself because it wasn't one of their general headshots. He could have even been the photographer.

That alone would have startled Kurt, but what really struck him dumb was the signature. _To Blaine Anderson_, it read. _All the best, Kurt Hummel_. A tiny canary was drawn next to the inscription. Because autographs were about the details, even if the signer didn't remember the encounter. At all.

"It's okay if you'd forgotten that we'd met before." Blaine stood behind him. He was in jeans and a simple striped sweater, hair still damp from a hasty shower. "I was just a fan in a sea of people trying to get your attention."

Kurt had forgotten and it wasn't okay. He took an enormous amount of pride in knowing his fans, and he found it hard to believe that he wouldn't have remembered Blaine's face from Glee Sectionals. Or at least have recalled him once he became famous.

Then again, that concert had been a very dark time.

"Why the canary?" Kurt asked.

Blaine stood next to him so he could better admire the autograph, his mouth quirking up in delight. "I told you that I loved to sing 'Pavarotti'. So you scribbled it on. It meant a lot to me. I even bought a bird and named him after the song."

"And where is he now?" Kurt asked warily.

"David, one of the guys in the band, took him home. His feathers were starting to fall off." Blaine shrugged. "I guess I'm not the nurturing type."

Kurt turned back to the photo. "'Pavarotti' isn't really about a bird. It's a metaphor for my frustrations during school, how I felt caged in by the limited opportunities to write and perform the way I wanted to." He paused. "I'm surprised I didn't tell you then. I've always wanted someone to ask me what it was about."

"You were in a rush; Sam Evans dragged you away before you could say anything." Blaine grinned. "Which is why 'those beers taste like piss' is our first real moment together."

Kurt chuckled, and they smiled at each other until an awkward silence settled in. Awkward because Kurt had come here against his will, very irritated at having to collaborate with a slutty, shallow teen idol. And found a quieter, milder Blaine young man instead. Who just happened to look really fine with wet curls clinging to his forehead.

"You're different today. Composed, and polite." Kurt decided not to mention that composed, polite men were exactly his type.

Blaine cleared his throat. "Yeah, I need to apologize for other night. I was really nervous to meet you so I got really drunk. I was afraid you'd be mad at me after _The Tonight Show_." Blaine was actively avoiding eye contact now. "And then things got out of hand. I really wanted to make a good first impression on you, not... not that. So. Sorry."

"No, I should apologize," Kurt said. "You must think I am such a jerk for judging you and your music. That was wrong of me." He paused. "I mean, I still hate your music and find it derivative to my own. But I shouldn't have caused a public scene about it."

He laughed. "Fair enough. But at least this collaboration is a chance to redeem myself." Blaine grabbed Kurt's hand. "Here, we can take a shortcut to the studio." Leading Kurt to a bookcase, he tugged on a copy of Patti Lupone's autobiography and part of the wall began to rotate.

"You have a secret passageway that leads to your studio?" Kurt wheezed out as Blaine dragged him down a long sparse tunnel.

"If you're going to build your own house, why cut corners right? I always dreamed of having that big crazy house where the guys could come over and jam in our personal studio. You know what I mean?"

Kurt knew exactly what he meant. And he was quite envious.

* * *

><p>The studio was just as pimped out as every other room he had seen so far. Plenty of instruments, the latest audio equipment, and excellent sound proof walls. Blaine began fiddling with levers and switches.<p>

"Do you even know how to use this stuff?" Kurt asked him curiously.

Blaine glared at him. "Of course I do."

Okay, then. So he wasn't endlessly polite. Time to change the subject. "Maybe we should get started. What have you done already?"

"Nothing.."

Seriously. "You mean you don't have a topic in mind?" Blaine shook his head. "Or a rhythm? Not even a bass line?"

"I was waiting for you."

It was going to be a really long night. "How the hell do you write your songs without knowing these things?"

Blaine shrugged. "Get out the rhyming dictionary, listen to a bunch of your songs, play them with the boys until something sticks. That's pretty much it."

And to think he had almost forgotten why he hated Blaine and the Pips so much. "I should sue you for admitting to that. Although I still can't figure out how your meaningless drivel started out being ripped from my songs."

"Be fair. Sometimes I rip from Rachel Berry's discography instead."

"Sass really isn't helping your case, Anderson." Kurt stabbed a finger at him. "Here's what we're going to do. Sit down and listen. I'm going to give a much needed education in songwriting!"

Blaine sat cross-legged on a piano bench and waited expectantly. Satisfied, Kurt stood and began to pace in front of him.

"You can't write great songs unless you have a strong emotion about something." He clutched at his own chest. "You have to _feel_. Something has to move you. Move you so deeply, it clutches your heart and just won't let go. Do you understand?"

Blaine swallowed visible. "Yes!"

"So, for example." Kurt peered at a lyric sheet pinned to the wall. "What's this song about? 'Medium Drip'?"

"Coffee." Blaine scrunched up his nose. "Originally. Then studio changed the words so now its about sex."

"Who writes a song about coffee?" Kurt hopped up and down. "You are supposed to be an artist! And no more bowing to studio pressure. You have to write about what you really feel, not what's going to sell."

Blaine nodded. His eyes were so large and thoughtful right now, like he was really trying to be better. It was cute. Really cute, actually. Kurt looked around hopelessly for distraction before finding a notebook and pen from the top of a filing cabinet.

"Let's start even more basic. What are you thinking about right now?"

Blaine shifted slightly on the bench.

"This one's easy, Blaine. I'm not going to make fun of you." After all, nothing could be worse than a sex song about coffee.

He pouted. "But I don't want you to be mad that I'm thinking about kissing you."

The memories of their previous night were surfacing, quite against Kurt's will. He shoved them back into the dark corners of this mind. He had to remain professional.

_Kissing_, Kurt wrote in the notebook. "Alright. So what does it feel like? What words would you use to describe kissing me?"

"Soft. Warm." Blaine closed his eyes and inhaled. "You smell nice."

Kurt continued to write, making sure to breathe in and out evenly as if this conversation topic didn't disturb him. "This is a start, but it's not very specific yet."

"You're just so attractive when you're fiesty." Kurt continued to write, but slower. "Even as you're lecturing me, your passion comes across and it's really sexy. You make me want to be better for you."

Now Kurt was reduced to scribbling, but Blaine continued. "I want to touch you so badly right now. You're so handsome in person, and I can't stop thinking about what you taste like. Kurt? Kurt, are you _blushing?_"

Well, shit. Kurt set the pencil on the table. Thanks a lot, face. "Don't be silly," he mustered out.

"Kurt, what if we kiss again?" Blaine was staring at him with an intense, dark look that wasn't helping the situation. At all.

"Maybe we should," Kurt breathed. "Just to get it off your mind."

He moved very fast. In a few short strides he was bending down over Kurt, one hand on the table, one hand on the back of Kurt's chair. Kurt's heart was pounding in his chest now, faster than he liked. Kurt reached a hand up and cupped Blaine's cheek. He caught the hint, closing the distance between them until there was none at all.

Kurt had hoped kissing Blaine would be less exciting than last time. Unfortunately, it was quite the opposite. There was a raw energy between them that dissolved his self-control; the smell of Blaine's aftershave, the tingling sensation of Blaine's fingertips working their way down Kurt's back. The harsh sound of them both inhaling at the same time once they remembered to keep breathing. The shock of heat that flushed down his body as Blaine gripped him by the hips so they could be pressed tightly together.

It wasn't until his shirt was half off that he had the mindset to collect himself.

"Hold on, hold on just a minute." Kurt gently pushed Blaine's hands away. Somehow Blaine's arms ended up around his waist, and they gently swayed like middle school kids at their first dance.

"What is it?" Blaine asked, pressing his lips to Kurt's collarbone in a way that made his skin numb in pleasure.

"You have a boyfriend." Blaine lifted his head, confused. "Or a booty call, or a something. The Calvin Klein model? I saw the paparazzi photos."

"Oh, that guy?" Blaine rolled his eyes. "That's nobody. We had a huge fight last night, actually. He wasn't too happy about you coming over."

Kurt wasn't sure if he was relieved, or just annoyed at how casual Blaine seemed to be. "I'm not going to be just another notch in your guitar case."

Blaine ran his fingers gently through Kurt's hair. "No. Of course not. It's completely different with you."

Kurt wasn't sure. If he was going to fool around with Blaine Anderson, he had to be certain it wasn't going to end in heartache. Because honestly, he'd had enough of that in his life already. "Nevermind. After all, we're only doing this to get it out of your system, right?"

For some reason, Kurt thought he was going to argue. But he didn't.

"Right," Blaine said, ending the conversation with another eager kiss.

* * *

><p>Kurt wasn't sure how he had gotten to the bedroom, mostly because his face had been glued to Blaine's face the entire way up the stairs. He was also in much less of a mood to criticize the decor. Not that there was much to criticize; the room could have been a hotel suite for all the personality it held.<p>

"I guess this is acceptable," Kurt said as sat down on the silk-covered bed.

"You're welcome to redecorate if you'll be visiting often," Blaine said slyly. He opened the drawer of the bedside table, which was bursting with an assortment of condoms. Ah. That's what Kurt got for complaining about personality.

"I'm not going to sleep with you." Kurt crossed his arms to match his cross expression. "We're only here because you can't concentrate on our work."

"Er, right." Blaine casually tossed the condom he was holding back in the pile, then hopped onto the bed next to Kurt. "So then, what did you want to do?"

"Get undressed and I'll figure it out." Kurt helped him get his sweater over his head. For a pop star, he didn't have the most defined chest. But Kurt was really too horny to be that picky. He kissed lightly down Blaine's chest and stomach, enjoying the way his body twitched with each touch.

"Before we go any further." Blaine sighed. "I've got to tell you something. I'm sort of... unfortunately sized."

_Oh_. Blaine was a little on the short side. "What kind of guy do you think I am?" Kurt told him. He tugged Blaine forward by his belt loops and undid his fly. With a perfectly executed poker face, he slipped a hand underneath the waistband of Blaine's briefs.

And scowled.

"What?" Blaine smirked. "It _is_ unfortunate. Most guys can't handle the full length, which is very inconvenient."

Kurt refused to dignify this topic with a response as he eased Blaine's pants and underwear down off of his hips. The boy was enormous with respect to his other proportions. He was at least as long as Kurt was fully hard, and a little thicker around.

"That joke gets you a lot of attention, does it?" Kurt said dryly.

"It's my signature pickup line." Blaine twisted his body until all of his clothes slipped off. He pushed Kurt onto his back and slowly de-clothed him, tossing everything onto the floor. Kissing and petting his bare skin until Kurt was coerced into letting Blaine stroke him.

"Kurt, you're so hard for me." Blaine smirked down at him, watching Kurt's body writhe in response. "Why, I think you're almost ready to 'Medium Drip.'"

"You suck at romance," Kurt told him. "Like, really."

Blaine licked his hand, then returned his hand to Kurt's cock. "That's not the only thing I suck."

"See? That is just what I mean." Kurt ran his palm over Blaine's hip and ass cheek. It was just as nice naked as it was in jeans. "How am I supposed to take you seriously when you use lame lines like that?" He let out a small whine as Blaine squeezed him on the upstroke. Blaine took advantage of his distraction, crawling completely on top of him so he could nuzzle his face into Kurt's neck.

"Don't worry, baby," Blaine said, running his tongue lightly inside it, "I don't intend to fuck you. Yet."

Kurt arched his hips forward, thrusting his cock harder into Blaine's hand. He chuckled with a low voice, still in Kurt's ear.

"Because I really really like you." Blaine kissed the side of his jaw. "I don't want to screw this up."

"That's too bad," Kurt groaned despite himself. "I still find your music repulsive."

"So stubborn," Blaine murmured. He licked Kurt's ear once more, then began to suck his way down his neck and throat with enough force to lift his head off the pillows.

It was too much, that combined with the steady rhythm of his strokes, the pleasant way their legs were intertwined. Kurt's vision whited out as he climaxed hard. Small spatters of his semen landed across his body and he heard Blaine let out a hungry groan in response.

"Stay just like that." Blaine sat up and straddled him, rubbing himself over Kurt's stomach. "This isn't going to take long."

Kurt did as he asked, trying to catch his breath, acutely aware of the wetness across his chest and neck. Blaine stared at him with an almost pained expression. He began to pant as his hand sped up quickly.

Kurt wiped at a line of come on his collarbone and sucked it off his finger.

It worked as intended. With a sharp gasp, Blaine fell forward onto his free hand for support. Spurts of come streaked across Kurt's body and face, mixing with Kurt's own. He made sure Blaine was watching when he licked some of it from the corner of his mouth.

Blaine kissed him. It was unexpected, and sweet. Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine and held him, pressing their bodies together.

"You alright?" Blaine asked him.

"Fine." Kurt wiggled a little, dismayed at the sound their slick bodies made. "We're quite dirty now."

"Let's get cleaned up, then." Blaine wrapped his fingers around Kurt's wrist and gently tugged him to his feet. "I just upgraded my shower; it's got jets that come out of the walls like a car wash. Come on!"

Kurt allowed himself to be led to the bathroom. But the sight of them in the mirrors halted him. Blaine glanced back, concerned.

"I was just thinking about the duet." Kurt gestured at their sticky, naked bodies. "I promised myself I would be professional, and now I feel like I've let you down."

Blaine's expression softened with affection. "Kurt, you didn't let me down." He kissed him fiercely on the forehead; sparks of warm pleasure flooded Kurt's brain.

"This duet was just an excuse to spend more time with you."

* * *

><p><em>Next: The boys struggle to write their duet before the press gets suspicious. But first, they must struggle to get out of bed.<em>

_As always, I'm available for comments and fun times at ridgelessridgeback . tumblr . com_


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